


Tumblr Ficlets: Kinks #1

by cranberryloops (orphan_account)



Series: Tumblr Fics, Ficlets and Drabbles [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Pedophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cranberryloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Sherlock likes them young. Very, very young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumblr Ficlets: Kinks #1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on Nov. 26th, 2012. Anon prompt.
> 
> Well, it’s much less porny than desired. Two consenting adults, despite what the prompt says.

It started, like everything in John’s life nowadays, with a case. He wasn’t sure what even made him look up that moment, what caused him to be more perceptive than usual. But there was no mistaking what he saw the moment he raised his eyes, in that small room on the second floor with its navy blue walls and Manchester poster.

Sherlock was looking down at the two boys entangled on the bed. The deep red flush covering his cheeks.

“What,” John started asking. But Sherlock spun his head at him with a rage neither of them expected.

“Shut up,” he said.

That moment John saw him, saw the dilated pupils, and the spreading blush, saw the parted lips and the hungry look. He watched with clarity as his detached flatmate turned into a creature of passion.

And he also saw the clenched fists and heard that slight tremor in Sherlock’s voice, so he didn’t say anything. He just looked away.

-

“I never acted on it,” Sherlock told him quietly in the taxi ride home. And John nodded.

It was almost obvious to see after that, though John isn’t sure if it was because he suddenly became aware there was something to notice or because Sherlock stopped trying to hide it from John.

There were looks, long gazes on young boys in the street, and an occasional audible gulp of breath when they met Charlie from Sherlock’s homeless network.

But that was the extent of it and that John didn’t let himself think about it, what ifs and night-time fantasies forced quiet.

-

He heard Sherlock moaning once, from behind a closed door and rested his head against the frame, half in yearning half in disgust.

-

They met a client’s son. A green-eyed wonder of a boy, who looked like cherub and John shifted uneasily in his seat, refusing to look at Sherlock, morbid curiosity ignored by sheer power of will.

“It’s not. It’s never children,” Sherlock told him in the flat.

“I don’t judge,” John said, refusing to look at Sherlock.

“John,” Sherlock pleaded with him, voice faltering.

-

John says nothing. It’s painful to think of the things Sherlock might want, humiliating to realize some of the burn in John’s chest is because he’ll never be that thing for Sherlock.

-

“Will you let me show you?” Sherlock asked gently. And John nodded, despite himself.

The magazine clippings were old and dusty, the boys in the pictures young. The kind of young that John has rarely seen even in his medical career. The photos were tasteful, posh, almost all of them in black and white. They showed skin on skin, bodies curving into shadow, but nothing like real male arousal ever felt or looked like in his John’s experience. They were erotic in an aloof and detached manner, in control. 

“Is it all of it?” John asked.

Sherlock looked down, fingers digging into his trousers. “I don’t save the other stuff.”

“You just memorize it,” John half asked and it was Sherlock’s turn to nod in silence.

-

It’s easier to imagine Sherlock alone, his hand moving leisurely on his cock and his head thrown back so that the long wanton line of his throat is arched in the most inviting of ways.

But it’s not all John imagines.

-

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Sherlock asked him one evening, his bare foot resting against John’s thigh in a parody of familiarity.

“Yes,” John answered simply.

-

“Do you feel lonely, sometimes?” John asked, looking up. It was late, and he was drunk, Sherlock’s warmth a distracting presence by his side.

“Not when you’re here,” Sherlock answered. But he sounded subdued.

-

“This is me, ” John hands him the photo. He’s 17 in it, the summer before uni, he thought himself to be a grown up then, but he was always short and skinny, all huge eyes and a blond mop of fine hair. Harry laughed when he asked her to send him his old photos.

He knows why he picked this one, the one where he’s sweaty after playing football and the camera caught him looking up at someone through his lashes.

It’s playing dirty, he knows, but there’s an unbearable itch under his skin that makes him feel it’s right.

“Thank you,” Sherlock says, looking at him.

John almost shudders looking at Sherlock’s fingers caressing the photo.

-

“I slept with a teacher once,” John says and Sherlock turns his head to him, licks his lips.

That night, alone in his bed, one hand on his cock and the other pushing three fingers into his hole it’s almost enough to know Sherlock is touching himself while thinking about John across the corridor.

-

Sherlock’s cock is gorgeous, jutting proudly from a nest of black curls.

His hand moves to the tempo of John’s voice, his eyes closes shut and his lips parted.

“He didn’t prep me,” John says and Sherlock pushes the foreskin over the head.

“I didn’t shout,” John remembers and Sherlock thrusts up.

“I came with his cock inside me,” And Sherlock comes too, with a silent cry as his hand works his cock in the same leisurely pace.

-

Sherlock bites his nape above the sweaty shirt and John moans into the pillow.

“You’re so good,” Sherlock whispers as his wet finger slips through the ring of muscles. “So tight, John.”

“Please,” John begs in a high voice.

“You’re being such a good boy for me,” Sherlock says soothingly and pushed three fingers in a smooth motion of his wrist, holds John in place as he stretches him despite John’s wiggling. 

-

They sit on the couch watching tv, John cradled between Sherlock’s spread thighs.

He looks over his head sometimes. Occasionally presses his lips across Sherlock’s jaw. A few times Sherlock turns his head and kiss him, mouth open and demanding.

John presses back against him, but Sherlock never gets hard. 

-

Sherlock’s grip is tight in John’s hair and the way he’s moving his hips John almost doesn’t need to pretend he’s choking.

“Come on, take it,” Sherlock snarls and John takes him into his throat, choking on Sherlock’s come with a moan as his own hand moves faster and faster on his cock.

He lets Sherlock slide from his mouth with a wet sound and presses his forehead into Sherlock’s thigh, hips moving furiously into his fisted fingers.

“Let me look at you,” Sherlock says.

“No,” John sobs into the pale skin under his lips, thrusting faster.

“Let me kiss you, please,” Sherlock whispers, and John feels him petting John’s head.

When he comes he can feel the salty taste of his tears mixing with the taste of Sherlock on his lips.

-

“Did it ever happen?” Sherlock will ask some day, breathing into John’s neck as they take a taxi home.

And John will kiss him and smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm not around much anymore, so I won't be replying to any comments, should you choose to leave one. But thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
